I Pray Another Love You So
by doc100
Summary: This story is in response to a challenge. It takes place after the Season 9 episode 'Shifting Sands' and is based on a poem by Pushkin.


**I Pray Another Love You So** by doc

_**AN:** This story was written in response to a Fanfiction Challenge._

_It takes place immediately following the final scene of the episode "Shifting Sands" from Season 9. As a reminder, Mac is standing outside Clayton Webb's hospital room and overhears a conversation between Harm, Webb and Catherine Gale about Harm joining the CIA._

_The poem referred to in this particular story is called 'I Loved You' by Aleksandr Pushkin. I found several different translations from the original Russian, but this one was my favorite._

_The Challenge lines were from the JAG episode 'Goodbyes'and are as follows: "Did you think you'd sneak away without saying goodbye?" … "Goodbye? Why not good luck." … "Didn't I say that to you once? When I was stupid enough to leave?"_

_Special thanks to Mom, my faithful finder and keeper of all things related to spelling and grammar._

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf.

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**I Pray Another Love You So**

18:30

October 2003

Kresge Medical Center

Pimmit Hills, Virginia

"Welcome to the brotherhood."

Mac rubbed at her chest trying to relieve the crushing ache in her heart. The tears stung the back of her eyes as she retreated into the hidden shadows of the hall.

THE CIA! He was going to work for the company. The very thought made her shudder in fear. 'Welcome to the brotherhood,' would he be partnered with Webb? She wouldn't be there as his backup, who was going to protect him?

CIA…CIA…CIA…the word echoed in her thoughts, taunting her, accusing her, pointing its finger of guilt. It was all her fault. If he hadn't resigned to come after her, he'd still be where he belonged, safely behind a desk at JAG.

Not Harm, her Harm, this was certain to be the death of him…if not in the literal sense, than surely his soul. 'I hope he fairs better than your various boyfriends and husbands.' His words came back with blinding force and she gasped for air. Her damned curse poised to strike again, only this time…this time, it would touch the one closest to her heart.

'Never.' With that one word, she had sought to release him from his obligations, from the danger of her. He could find another; she hoped…one more deserving, safer…one to cherish and truly love. Maybe then, he would be free to say the words.

"I pray God grant another love you so," eyes closed, she whispered the anguished plea.

The wrinkled sheet of paper had once again found its way into her grasp. She had read the poem years ago, but it had never seemed more poignant than in these days following Paraguay. She nervously rubbed the fragile surface of the tattered page. It had become her worry-stone of late…an appeal to God on high, interceding on his behalf. A sincere and heart-felt prayer for his happiness, safety and love…even if it was to be with another.

She quickly turned to flee the disturbing scene of the cheerful trio in Webb's room. Halfway down the hall she was stopped dead in her tracks by the sound of his voice.

"Did you think you could sneak away without saying goodbye?"

She barely turned her head, afraid to let him see her troubled demeanor, "What?"

"Didn't you come to see Webb?" he couldn't hide the sneer in his voice.

"I…um, I didn't…um later, I'll come back later."

He walked closer, "Don't leave on my account. I'm sure he could use a little more of your 'care 'n concern'," he made the words sound suggestive and dirty.

"Harm," she warned.

He loomed over her, "Go back to Webb, Mac."

"I told you...I'm not with…" the words died on her lips. What was the point, he was going to believe what he wanted to, anyway. "Goodbye Harm," she brushed past him to hurry down the hall.

"Goodbye? That's how you want leave things?" When she turned back around, he continued his sarcastic retort, "Why not good luck?"

"Good luck?" the confusion evident on her face.

"Didn't you say that to me once before, when I was stupid enough to leave JAG and go back to flying?"

"But…."

He cut her off, "Yeah that's right, I'm going to be working for the company, now that I don't have a job with the Navy anymore…flying planes for the CIA," he stalked toward her. "After all we've been through, don't I deserve a little more than a simple goodbye? Or maybe words like 'good luck,' 'best wishes,' 'hope to see you soon,' aren't a part of your vocabulary," he turned his back and muttered under his breath, "…kind of like thank you."

She heard him none-the-less and reached for his arm, "Harm, I am…."

"Save it, Mac. It kinda loses its meaning when someone has to ask you to say it." He took a few steps away, "Or maybe you don't understand, because you've never chased halfway across the world and put your life on the line for someone you lo…" he checked himself, "…care about. Only to insure their safe return, while you come home empty-handed…with nothing." He turned back to look into her eyes, "Or was that 'NEVER'."

Emotions flashed through her eyes; hurt…sympathy…anger…love…sadness…rage. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND?" He backed up at the fierceness of her words. She paced the hall in circles, mumbling under her breath, hands flying in frenzy. He caught snippets of phrases and words as she marched toward him then back again, "Who does he think…not once but twice…thinks I don't understand…no concern…better than anyone…dangerous, how about war torn…."

Finally she stopped directly in front of him, deflated, shoulders slumped, bravado gone. He took in her defeated pose and it nearly crumpled the self-righteous facade, he worked so hard to maintain. His hands twitched at his sides, forcing him to slide them into his pockets, before they betrayed him by taking her into his arms.

"Mac…"

She shook her head, "No Harm, you think I don't understand what it's like? What do you call…" she bit her lip to stop the words.

"What do I call what?"

She paused to swallow the lump in her throat, and then continued on in shaky voice, "Not just once, but twice…you asked me why?" She inhaled deeply searching for the strength to say the words. Holding up one trembling finger she reverently spoke, "Adeen…Ya tebya lyblyu." His brow furrowed in question. Brushing away a tear, she raised a second finger, "Dva…Moya lyubov' ne znayet granits."

The frown deepened, "I don't understand, Mac. You need to speak in English not Farsi. Is this about Afghanistan? Because orders issued for military ops are not the same…."

"No Harm," she shook her head with a sigh, "…this isn't about Afghanistan, Iraq or any of the other missions that we've been sent on for the military. It's about you and me and…" she stared into his eyes begging him to comprehend, to remember, "…it's not Farsi."

"Well, whatever language it is, I don't understand it. You need to say the words in plain English so I know exactly what you're trying to tell me."

She chuckled at the irony, "Tell you what I mean? State the WORDS clearly, in plain English, so you don't misinterpret my intentions? Who would have thought?"

His back stiffened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Eyes icy gray, "Mac, I don't really want to have another conversation about stating intentions. I thought you covered that pretty well with 'NEVER'."

Running a finger down his arm, she grasped his hand and tugged it free. Peeling open his clutched fingers, she stroked her thumb back and forth over his palm. "That's the problem, Harm. We both talk, but we don't hear. That's why I said it would never work, because we don't listen to each other when it really counts."

Her eyes rose to met his, "Harm, we trust each other with everything, except, what we're most afraid to lose." Tapping her finger lightly over his heart, she sighed, "This is where the words should come from, but we're both so busy fighting not to be the first to say them…that we miss out on what has already been given. I don't know if that's a fight for the top or the bottom…I only know it's not right, and that I can't do it anymore."

She watched his eyes cloud over with unexpressed emotion. "It's OK Harm, I know…I know." She withdrew the tattered paper from her pocket and pressed it into the palm of his hand. Standing on her tiptoes, she placed a kiss on his cheek and then leaned in to whisper in his ear, "That's why I'm setting you free…I hope you find all the happiness you so rightly deserve. Be careful, be safe and good luck. Ya tebya lyblyu."

He watched as she turned and walked away. Just as she approached the corner, he cried out, "Mac…Sarah!" Her footsteps faltered just a moment at the sound of her given name, before she continued on her way.

He stood rooted in place, his mind and his heart warring him into inaction. Just as he leaned forward to pursue, a voice caught his attention, "Excuse me, Sir…but my grandmother would like your assistance."

He turned to look at the young man standing in the doorway across the hall, "I'm sorry?"

"My grandmother, she needs to speak with you."

He glanced back down the hall hoping to catch just one more glimpse of Mac, but she was already gone. He shook his head in frustration, "Look, I'm really sorry if we disturbed your grandmother. I didn't realize we were talking that loud. I'll see if I can find one of the hospital staff to assist…."

"No Sir, Grandmother wants you. She says it's really important."

He nodded in resignation and entered the room. Perched upon the bed, he found a small gray-haired woman with twinkling eyes and a pleasant smile. She was practically engulfed in a mountain of pillows and wore an ornate shawl around the shoulders of her dressing gown. He stopped at the foot of the bed, "I'm sorry if we disturbed you, Ma'am. I'm afraid Mac and I got a little loud."

"Mac?" questioned the heavily accented voice. "I thought for sure you argue with a woman?"

He chuckled, "Mac…Sarah is a woman."

A bubbling laugh was returned, "You call your wife Mac?"

"She's not my wife," a blush rose up his cheeks, "…although, sometimes we fight enough that I'm sure people wonder."

"But you love her, no?"

His eyes widened as his mouth gaped opened and closed. Finally, he found his bearings, "It's not like that…I mean, Mac & I we're partners. We work together. Uh, we're military lawyers."

"I see…than this…Mac?" The woman shook her head, "Why you call a beautiful woman Mac? She is beautiful, no? I could not see you…only hear you talk."

"Ah, yes…I ah, I guess she's beautiful," he stammered, pointing toward the door. "I really should be going. I've disturbed you enough."

Just as he reached the doorway, she froze him in place with her words, "I can tell you what she say. I know the language."

He turned back to find an impish grin on her face, "You speak Farsi?"

The grandmother threw him a 'tsk-tsking' laugh, "She right, you no listen very well." Shaking a finger in his face, "She tell you it not Farsi. Come sit."

"No really, I should be going."

She bowed her head, "I sorry, I thought you care about her."

He noticeably swallowed as his eyes darted from the bed to the door, weighing his options. Shoulders finally slumped in resignation; he took the offered seat beside the bed.

She smiled in response, "I thought I judge you right. This gray hair mean I know a thing or two…I live a long life." She extended a hand in welcome, "My name is Elizaveta Zaslavsky, but you call me Liza."

He accepted the thin bruised hand with extra gentle care, "Harmon Rabb, but my friends call me Harm."

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Harm. Now tell me about your love?"

"I told you, we're not…we work together in the military, Navy and Marines."

Liza gave him an all-knowing motherly glare, "I no think the military let you just run away to save someone you…how you said it…oh yes, care about. Least not in my country."

He glanced away and muttered, "That's kinda why I lost my job."

"I know I right," she wiggled a bony finger his way and smiled, "…you no quit a job to save some you no love."

"I'll admit there's different kinds of love," he grinned back. "I'm a lawyer, we can always find the loophole."

He watched her expression fall, "Is that why she not yours? You always look for this loophole?"

He whispered back, "She's not mine because she said 'never'."

She extended a hand and cupped his cheek, "I think you wrong. She not yours because you no tell her."

"Could you please tell me what this says?" He handed over the wrinkled page of paper.

She nodded, "Yes, if you give me my glasses?" Once he handed over the requested item, she studied the poem. Looking up with a sorrowful gaze, she asked, "I must know if you really love her, first?"

"Why? Why is that important? What does it say?"

"Because, I no want her hurt no more. I tell you what this say and what she say in the hall, if you make me believe you care."

He studied his hands and picked at his thumbnail trying to decide whether to trust. In all his life, the grand gestures were somehow easy to give, but the secrets to his heart, those were held in deep reserve. Well, that was ever since a dark Christmas Eve so long ago. He glanced back toward Liza and nodded, "I resigned my commission in the Navy and went to save her life," taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead, "…because even if she's not mine, I know I wouldn't survive if she weren't here."

"And she do the same for you." He shrugged his shoulders, unsure. She sighed, "It hard to give away your heart, but she do it for you. She travel across the world for you to a land called Russia?"

His eyes widened, "That's what she was talking about? Russian…that's the language she was speaking? I should have recognized that…how could I not remember?"

She nodded, "And she come after you not once but twice, yes?" He hung his head at the memory. "The first time, one…'adeen', she say she come because she love you. 'Ya tebya lyblyu.' The second time she travel far?" He nodded. "Ah, two…'dva', she say, 'her love have no borders.' 'Moya lyubov' ne znayet granits.' That mean there no beginning and no end…she never stop…even to the end of the earth."

Tears welled in his eyes, "But what does that say?" He pointed a trembling finger toward the paper.

Liza held the page out to him, "This mean she make you 'free'…to love another…to make you happy."

The tears fell one by one down his cheek. He pushed the paper back toward her, "Please, read the entire thing so I understand."

"It poetry by Aleksandr Pushkin. I not sure I translate well into English."

"Please?"

"All right, I try." She reached for his hand and squeezed it in hers.

_I loved you; even now I may confess,_

_Some embers of my love their fire retain;_

_But do not let it cause you more distress,_

_I do not want to sadden you again._

_Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly_

_With pangs the jealous and the timid know;_

_So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,_

_I pray God grant another love you so._

Looking into his face, she asked, "So you love her, no?"

"With all that I am and more than I could ever show."

Liza smiled and patted his cheek, "I help you say to her. Lyublyu tebya vsem setsem, vsey dush oyu."

His eyes reflected fear, "First of all, I don't think she'll listen to me. Second, there's no way I can say that in Russian."

Her smile brightened, reaching her eyes, 'We practice…and I write it down. If you no can say," she pointed a finger, "…after you try, then you give her the paper."

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Twenty minutes later, Harm leaned over the bed of the wise old grandmother and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Liza, from me…and hopefully from Sarah."

Liza kissed him back, "You bring her back to me. I want to meet this woman who capture your heart. Dosvidaniya."

"If all goes well, I promise to bring her by in the next few days. Thank you, again. Dosvidanya."

Harm hurried from the room, with paper in hand, on a mission to find his marine. As he stepped outside the front entrance of the hospital, he noticed the lateness of the eve. Dusk was already descending, the sky a mixture of orange and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The lights in the parking lot were buzzing into commission. He paused a moment to enjoy the autumn night. The temperature was just this side of chilly, but pleasant all the same. The trees on the campus were sporting shades of red, orange and green. He realized, he hadn't noticed any of those changes before now. Funny, what a little attitude adjustment could do.

He shook his head at the change in his demeanor. It would only take one event, the declaration of a few words, to make things even better. He walked briskly toward his car. As he neared the far side of the lot, he backtracked an aisle and came upon a red corvette. Mac's corvette to be exact, her JAG HQ parking decal attached to the right front windshield. He placed his hand on the hood. Cold to the touch, that meant she'd been here awhile. Maybe she went back to visit Webb like she said. And why not? You threw her into his arms enough, he groused to himself.

He turned back to the hospital with a determined stride. As he neared the building, a familiar color caught his eye. He could spot her marine greens anywhere. Well, maybe it had more to do with the way she filled them out, than the color itself. She was sitting on a park bench in a side meditation garden. She was unaware of his silent approach and he paused a moment to study her form. She looked tired and sad. Her uniform hung a bit loose and her shoulders sagged from their usual military bearing. Maybe it was time he did something about that, he missed the light in her eyes and the smile she reserved just for him.

"Here goes nothing…well, nothing but my future that is," he whispered to himself.

"Mac," he laid a hand on her shoulder from behind.

She startled at the intrusion into her quiet world and quickly turned. "Harm, you scared me!"

His smile was gentle and warm, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to talk to you."

She gathered her things to leave, "I think we've said enough for today."

He knelt before her and took her hands in his, cutting off her path of escape. "Please, just listen to me for a minute."

She glanced away, "Did you come back here to find me?"

"No," he chuckled, "I never left. I was kind of held hostage by a sweet old lady." He motioned with his head, "I noticed your car on my way through the lot. It was luck really; I was headed to your apartment, anyways."

"Why, so you could yell at me some more?"

He noticed the redness of her eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks. "No, that little old grandmother I was telling you about, she kind of sent me on a mission. Our yelling by the way, got me in a heap of trouble…that's why I was in Liza's room."

"Liza?" she stared in confusion.

"Yeah, Liza…the little old grandmother. She's a force to be reckoned with by the way, and very protective of you."

"Harm, it's been a long day, and I'm tired…and none of this is making any sense."

"OK, just give me a minute and I'll try to keep this brief. Liza, her real name is Elizaveta Zaslavsky, did I mention she speaks Russian?" Mac bowed her head to escape his gaze. "See the thing is, she wouldn't tell me what you said, or what this said," he held up the tattered paper, "…until I did some confessing of my own. She told me that you had been hurt enough, and if I couldn't convince her that I cared about you, then I didn't deserve to know what you said."

He placed a finger beneath her chin and pulled her face to his gaze. "I'm sorry, Mac. I'm sorry I didn't listen…that didn't understand…that I didn't remember…but most of all, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you."

She wiped away a tear as it escaped her lash, "Tell me what?"

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pictured a cool rushing stream, and jumped, "Lyublyu vesnah a mat…um, I kinda forgot the rest."

Her laughter filled the air. It sounded like music to his battered soul, until he remembered what he was trying to confess. "Uh Mac, that wasn't exactly the response I was going for."

She wheezed for breath, "Harm, what does your loving the spring have to do with your mother?"

He shook his head and joined in her mirth. "That wasn't exactly what I was trying to say. I knew I would screw it up; I'm just glad I didn't call your uncle a pig." His smile dimmed a bit with nerves, "Maybe you should just read it. Liza wrote it down, but she said I had to try and say it first."

She accepted the worn paper and turned it around to read the back. Tears began to fall in earnest down her cheeks. Worried, he reached up to wipe them away, "Sarah, what does it say? Liza didn't tell me exactly, but it shouldn't have made you cry."

"What did you want it to say?"

"Well, she asked me if I loved you, and I told her…with all that I am and more than I could ever show. What did she write?"

She nodded her head as a bright smile appeared on her lips, "More or less what you said." She caressed his cheek with her hand, "Me too…Lyublyu tebya vsem setsem, vsey dush oyu."

"Are you going to tell me what it really means?"

"Someday." He leaned into her touch and kissed her palm.

Looking into her eyes with absolute seriousness, he asked, "Mac, can I ask you a question?"

She brushed her thumb against his lip, "Of course."

"Are you a betting man…well, woman that is?"

She sat back, "What? Harm, did you hit your head?" She ran a fingertip over the healing cut on his forehead, "Maybe we should get you checked out, you were knocked unconscious in the plane crash, after all."

He pushed her hand away from his head, "I'm fine, Mac. I was just wondering, do you play poker?"

She caught the glint in his eye; he was up to something. "Listen flyboy, if this has something to do with playing strip poker tonight!"

"Maybe later, Mac…I'll have to keep that in mind, though." He shook his head, "No, I was thinking more of the bet…you know, raising the stakes?" He pulled his keys from his front pocket and danged them in her face.

She stared on with bewildered amusement, "Are you saying you want to make a bet, your corvette against mine?"

"Hell NO! I'd never take a chance with my vintage corvette, although," he paused a moment in thought, "…it's kind of like keeping it in the family, I guess."

She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear the exhaustion, "Harm, you're not making any sense here, and I'm too tired to try and figure it out."

"OK, let me see if I can make it a little clearer." He shifted through the key ring, until he found what he wanted.

"I see your 'NEVER' and raise you a 'FOREVER'." He held the key ring up to her gaze with a diamond solitaire pinched between his fingers. "What do you say? I love you, Sarah. How about we make it forever?"

She vigorously nodded her head, momentarily speechless. "How…where…why…when?"

He smiled, "The how is the usual way, I picked it out." He worked the ring off the key chain, "The where is my secret, unless it doesn't fit." He placed it on her finger and slid it into place, "The why is because I love you and wouldn't have lasted a day if you had died." He leaned over to place kiss on the ring, "And the when, was somewhere between the Admiral harassing me about what I would do to keep you…and finding you strapped to the table of that torture shed." His voice cracked at the last admission and he laid his head onto her lap.

"It's OK, I'm home safe because of you." She stroked her fingers through his hair.

"No it's not, I rescued you from death, but almost lost you to my jealous stupidity. When I saw you strapped to that table, I was so scared. But I still had to get both of us out of there alive, then Webb started pushing my buttons, and we were fighting…."

"Ssshh, it's OK…let's just agree that neither one of us were at our best down there, and let it go at that." She tugged on his hand, "Harm, it can't be comfortable down there kneeling on the ground. Why don't you come up here?"

He shook his head, "I don't mind, Mac. I'll take the bottom and you can have the top. As long as we're together, I don't care."

"I don't want the top, either. How about side-by-side, equals?"

He stood up and pulled her into his embrace, "Sounds good to me. It's always worked well before…Butch and Sundance?"

"Batman and Robin?"

He placed a quick peck on her lips, "Mac, we have to come up with a better comparison. I don't want my better-half to be a guy."

"Bonnie and Clyde?"

He grinned, "That'll work."

"Harm, can we go home, now? I'm beat, my feet ache, and I want to get out of this uniform and into something comfortable."

He pulled her firmly to his side and wrapped an arm around her waist, "I can help with that, Mac. That is the getting out of the uniform, not necessarily the getting into something more comfortable…unless it's my…."

"Don't say it!"

He snickered, the old banter was back and it felt good. "We just need to swing by Clay's room first."

She stopped in place, "Harm, you are not going to gloat! The man is still in the hospital."

He pulled her forward in their trek to the front door, "I'm not going to gloat, Mac. Well, at least not yet. I just need to tell him I'm not going to work for the CIA."

"Thank goodness! What do you plan to do instead?"

"Funny, you should ask…I was thinking about being a kept man. You know, a stay-at-home Dad."

She stopped again, "You got some kids you haven't told me about?"

He dragged her forward again, "Not that I know of." At her pitched eyebrow, he laughed, "Of course not, but you know, little AJ's birthday is just around the corner. We have a deal to fulfill. In fact, we better get cracking…his birthday's only 7 months away."

"Harm, I don't recall the deal stating that the baby had to be born by AJ's birthday."

He waved a hand, "Details…it doesn't really matter whether you're pregnant by his birthday or we get pregnant on his birthday. The way I see it, practice makes perfect. And you know how I love perfection, Mac. So, I say the more practice the better."

As they stepped under the awning of the front entrance, he pulled her behind the Privet hedge. "Harm, what are you…." His lips prevented further discussion.

When they broke for air, he gasped, "Sorry Mac, I just had to do that." He nipped at her bottom lip, "All that uniform protocol stuff was driving me crazy…I couldn't wait until we got home. Of course," he waggled his brow, "…I'm not the one who would get thrown in the brig for public displays of affection."

Her expression sobered, "I'm sorry about that, Harm."

He pushed the hair away from her face, "Don't worry about it, Mac. We'll figure it out together. Maybe, you can break the Admiral down…you always were his favorite."

"You've got to be kidding me. You weren't the one that…."

He stopped her protestations with another kiss. "It doesn't really matter, Mac. One of us would have had to leave JAG when we got married, anyway." He paused to stare at her face, "Liza said I shouldn't call you Mac."

"What?"

"The Russian grandmother…she says Mac isn't a very flattering name for such a beautiful woman. She thinks I should call you Sarah. I'm not sure. I got to know you as Mac. My best friend and partner is Mac. I fell in love with both of you…Mac the marine…and Sarah, the incredible and beautiful woman. What do you think?"

She wrapped her arms around his chest and tucked her head under his chin. "Harm, you're wearing me out. You are all over the map tonight. Proclamations of love, poker, engagements, children, careers, names. I think you should call me whatever you want. I kinda like Mac when we're working or out in public; it makes me feel like your partner…your equal. I never much liked it when other m…well, others called me Sarah. But when you say Sarah, it sounds like an endearment. I always imagined you were telling me…" she grew quiet.

He squeezed his arms around her, "Telling you what?"

She shook her head, "You'll think it's crazy."

His hands stroked her back, "Tell me, please?"

"When you called me Sarah, it almost sounded like you were telling me…you loved me."

He tipped her face up to his and spoke with sincerity, "I was…always, I was."

She whispered back, "I love you with all my heart, and all my soul."

He smiled, "The Russian translation from Liza?" She nodded, love shining clearly in her eyes. "Perfect. I love you too, Sarah."

The End

_**AN:** The Russian dialogue I used in this story was the English phonetic equivalent of the Russian words. Since the words were used in conversation, I thought it was better that they be at least recognizable in English form. No offense was intended to the Russian dialect or its alphabet. Thanks for reading._


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